


Nyx's Haven

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blind Character, Blind!Noct, Blindness, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life, prompt fills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-21 23:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13751346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: A series of short fluff pieces set in Nyx's apartment in my Blind Faith au.





	1. Stuffed Animal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JazzRaft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/gifts).



“What’s this?” 

“A present, little star,” Nyx was grinning, Noct could tell. He could hear it in his lover’s voice and practically feel the excitement in him. He could feel the little movements as the Glaive settled next to him on the bed— snuggled together in the little nook of Nyx’s apartment. 

Noct smiled as he let his hand move over the gift— fully aware that Nyx was watching him. Probably still grinning. Probably still excited with that boyish charm that came so easily. 

“Aren’t presents usually wrapped?” His hands caught on the plastic bag, searching for the opening, the handles, anything to indicate where he could get into the little bundle Nyx had placed in his hands as soon as he had settled. 

He smiled at the little scoff the comment earned him, tugging at the tape he had found holding the whole thing closed. “Only if you want to keep someone from seeing the gift. That’s not a problem with you.”

“Why do I love you?”

“I’m charming and witty.”

“Sure you are.” Whatever was in the bag was soft and sturdy. It slipped out easily enough and Noct could examine it more closely. His hands ran along soft, fake fur— little tufts at the end of long appendages he thought were wings before his hands found the little mass of a protrusion set between two buttons. “A stuffed animal?”

“Got it in one, little star,” Nyx was still grinning, still proud of himself as he shifted closer and directed Noct’s hands over the soft flanks of the toy, the stubby legs, the long fluff of the tail. His hands over Noct’s as he guided, settled as close as possible without hindering movement. 

“You got me a stuffed animal.”

“Yes.”

“Of Carbuncle?”

“Definitely.”

“As sweet as that is,” Noct couldn’t help but smile, turning to where Nyx had moved— pressed against his back, chin on his shoulder, arms around him, surrounding him in the little warm nook where the bed was hidden away— and planted a kiss on the Glaive’s cheek. “Why?”

“So you’ll have something here when you’re over. This’ll be your place too. Outside of the Citadel.”

“It’s your place.”

“Yours and mine.”


	2. Kitten

Coffee in the morning was always a bit of an adventure, Nyx was learning. Once Noct had gotten settled, and used to where everything was, he insisted on taking up the morning routine of making the coffee from Nyx’s impressive stash of whatever he could gather together at sales prices. Unless something was moved without warning between visits— and Astrals help him if he attempted to tidy up in a way the blind prince was not used to— then Noct could move through his tiny kitchen with ease, deciding on what coffee he wanted through the smell of the grounds. 

Most mornings, tucked away in the tiny apartment in the noisy Galahdian district, Nyx was happy to manoeuvre around his lover. He was happy to ignore the pressing noise of the streets outside and the neighbours shouting their dramas through the building. He was happy to slip his hands across Noct’s hips and kiss his smile, as they slipped across the cheap linoleum flooring in their search for breakfast. While the rising sun filtered through his dusty curtains and he attempted to kick their clothes out of the way for Noct to move freely. 

Other mornings, safe in the little haven they had created deep in the chaos of the district, below the careful watch of the Lucian city, Nyx liked to lounge in bed and watch Noct work his way through their little routine. He liked to watch as Noct carefully selected a coffee, sniffing each bag— sometimes it was a quick decision, others he mulled over several, until he tracked down some sweet gourmet thing he kept around for Libertus’ visits— and feeling the weight of each blend. There were times when Noct mixed what he wanted, scooping and shaking haphazard amounts into filters, pausing only to ensure it still smelled the way he wanted. 

Nyx could watch as Noct— at ease in the little apartment now just as much as in his own home— moved through the morning light without any hesitation. 

“How about sunshine?”

“What?”

“Since you whine about me calling you ‘little star.’ How about sunshine?”

Today was one of the days Nyx could just watch Noct move. He could watch the prince fill the kettle with the certainty of familiarity and set it to boil with a little click on the counter. He could commit to memory the line of Noct’s arm and back as he stretched to find mugs by feeling— always knowing which was his favourite by the outline of a mouse etched into the ceramics. He could watch Noct smile for hours in the peace of the kitchen, thumb tracing the silly pattern Nyx hadn’t even noticed until after he got the box of cheap kitchen fillings home from the junk sale years ago. 

“There is literally nothing sunny about me.”

“You don’t know that! You could be blond for all you know.”

“I’m not a ‘sunshine’ sort of person.”

“Says you,” Nyx let his grin bleed into his tone, beaming as Noct matched the smile as he leaned against the counter, silly mug still in hand. “Fine. How about angel?”

“That’s even worse!”

“How is it worse?”

“Nyx,” Noct turned to the boiling kettle before the switch clicked off. He set the filter over the mugs with it’s chipped plastic holder by touch; “there is no way, in any world, I could be considered an angel after what I do to you. Or let you do to me.”

“Depends on your definition of angel, I suppose.”

“No.”

Nyx moved to the edge of the bed, smirking as Noct approached, his steps confident despite the mess of their clothes cast aside from the night before. “What do you want to be called then?”

“My name?”

“Boring, sweetling.”

“Not that.”

“Yes, dear.”

“I can end you, hero.” 

The mug Noct brought with him was set aside on the bedside table, cleared of Nyx’s small collection of unread books for now. The mug, with it’s steam curling in the morning light and the silly little etching of a mouse clearer in the shadows near the bed, was safe from spilling as Nyx pulled Noct into his lap. As Noct moved to straddle Nyx’s thighs, and shift them both back to the comfort of the sturdy bed tucked away in the little nook. As Nyx let his hands roam Noct’s back, mindful of the faded scars Noct remembered getting but had never seen for himself— the ones still jagged from the ravages of the Scourge, cutting from back to thigh, that Nyx tried not to think about.

“You get to call me names.”

“Because I’m the prince.”

“You’re a brat.” Hands held Noct in place, even as he heard the slow and stop of his own coffee left on the kitchen counter. Even as the prince squirmed to finish his routine before settling in to kiss his lover. 

“Do you want your coffee or not?”

It was muttered against Nyx’s lips. Smiled as Nyx chased Noct as he pulled away. Offered with the touch of cheekiness that came with a happy, satisfied Noct. “Kitten.”

“What?”

“Kitten, that’s the one. I’m calling you kitten.”

“Whatever, hero.”


	3. Midnight Intimacy

Nyx always knew that he would never quite subdue the nightmares. He knew that he had spent more years fighting for his life now than he had really ever enjoyed peace. He knew that, back in Galahd, when the innocence of his childhood was stripped away and the nostalgia for the forests and canyons was gone, he had never really known peace. He had known the quiet under occupation, where fighting was something distant and not talked about, where resistance was something whispered between known troublemakers as he closed up the bar and he felt the fear he vaguely remembered from his childhood rising up. He had known the unease of just trying to keep his head down, and to not be called out as his father’s son to mechanical soldiers who barely looked human, let alone had human mercies. 

Nyx knew that he had never really had peace. 

That there would be nightmares to jolt him awake in the dead of night. That his breath would be stolen by shadows in his room until his waking mind caught up. 

That he would reach out for his lover in the dead of night and promise Noct the peace he never had. 

“Nyx?”

“Go back to sleep.”

He would twin their hands in the dark, and wonder at how pale Noct really was. He would watch the steady rise and fall of his lover’s breath, and smile, even as the light behind the heavy curtains over the windows shifted. 

“Can’t now.”

“Why now?”

“Because you had a nightmare,” and Noct would always know. 

Nyx assumed it was from his breathing, his heartbeat, the way he stiffened for that moment before waking. He assumed there were signals Noct picked up on here, in the small apartment, that he didn’t bother with back in the Citadel. Not when the bed was bigger and more open, and one of them could slip away more easily in the night if they woke. 

Here, the apartment was too small, and the bed too narrow. 

Here, Noct could probably hear the drip in the bathroom sink, offset by the steady flow of traffic outside. He could probably hear the heavy footsteps of neighbours in the hallway, when they weren’t shouting at each other. There were the sounds— low and mechanical hums and clicks— from the kitchen and doors opening and closing down the hallways. There was a bar a few floors below, rowdy patrons and late hours, that Nyx had learnt to tune out when needed. 

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“You’re thinking too loud.”

Fingers still laced together, Noct burrowed closer in the dark. He curled into the crook of Nyx’s arm and settled closer— as close as he could in the narrow bed and their little nest with thin blankets. And Nyx curled closer too, encircling Noct as best he could without releasing his grip on the man’s hand. He watched the pale blue eyes— unfocused and unseeing— flutter in the dark as Noct struggled to stay awake for him. 

“Go back to sleep.” He thought of the king and all his power, and wondered if he’d have to watch that power burn Noct away one day too. If he’d see that slow grey of spreading poison working its way through Noct as his prince sacrificed himself to the same slow death as his father to protect the city. To protect the people who never seemed pleased. 

“Then stop thinking.”

He was fairly certain that Noct would tell whatever god decided that was his fate to fuck off. “No. I’m thinking about you.”

“I’m right here, hero. No thinking needed.”

“Maybe I want to think about you?”

“Then it had better be something good. Because I’m waiting.”

Nyx smiled in the dark, and moved them until Noct was on his back. Until he was looking down at his lover, lacing their hands together again, pressing Noct back into the pillows the prince hoarded with a kiss. 

“I’m going to take you to Galahd one day. Back to my hometown. I’m going to whisk you away and get you comfortable in a nice little cottage where you can fish and nap all day, nice and safe. And I’m going to make love to you out where there’s only stars and wildflowers.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous, little star.”

It was easy to stoop down for the kiss. To let the tension from his dreams and worries bleed away with his lover beneath him, with the peace of their dark little hole buried deep in the warrens of the Crown City. It was easy to let Noct smile against him, distract him with playful nips to his lips as they chased each other in the stuffy air of the closed off apartment. It was easy to think it was just them, in all the world, right there and right now. 

“Love you, hero.”

“Love you too, little king.”


	4. Dancing

“How are you so bad at this?” Noct was laughing. He was almost always laughing when he suggested something stupid like this. When he made up his mind to try something silly or strange or potentially humiliating to Nyx. “The way everyone talks, you’re supposed to be light on your feet.”

“In battle! This is different.”

“It really isn’t,” Noct rearranged them— moving Nyx’s hand to his waist, curled his own around to the small of Nyx’s back. “Just follow my lead.”

The music filled the little apartment. It was light and airy, and conjured up images of starlit cities and romantic rendezvous. Or it would, if Nyx could take it seriously enough to do more than trip over Noct. 

He had seen the waltz before. He had stood guard during events and parties as the upper crust of Lucian society floated across dance floors to similar music. He had watched for threats and hidden weapons, while all these perfect people in their shining outfits moved together with plastered on smiles and whispered words between them. He had watched as they had more space than his little apartment, every obstacle pushed away to the wall. 

He had watched Noct dance before— bored by his smiling partners, unable to be flattered by dazzling beauty or handsome good looks, and unimpressed with the lack of conversation. He had stood guard at charity events and societal balls, at parties meant to celebrate the prince and king, and watched as the other rich and famous of Lucian society floundered in the face of needing more than just appearances to catch the attention of Noctis. As if everyone forgot that he was blind. 

There had been plenty of parties where Noct stole away from the crowd with his friends, to hide in the quiet corners of the Citadel. Where Nyx had followed— because he was on guard duty, and guarding the prince was far more entertaining than standing in some corner to watch people fret and pander and attempt to impress each other without any actual achievements to their names. 

This would be the first time Nyx was invited as a guest and not a guard. 

“Why don’t I lead, little star?”

“Because I’m the prince.”

“You say that like you won’t laugh your head off at the scandal.”

“Good point.”

And in an instance the footwork was reversed. Nyx knew these steps better. He understood how things were supposed to look and appear and how the whole disaster they were flirting with was meant to go. He had spent hours watching the same dances, bored and distracted by the way Noct would put people who underestimated him on edge. 

It was easier to lead. 

It was easier to fall into the role he expected of himself, and to smile as Noct eased his way into following. “You’re good at this, little star.”

“Iggy taught me.”

“Of course he did.”

“He could teach you, too.”

“Nope, you’re doing just fine.” 

Nyx liked dancing. At his own pace, with his own people. He liked the beat and chaos and noise of it. And the way it let him blow off steam after a few drinks and far too many bodies haunting his dreams. He liked getting lost in the music, laughing with his friends as Crowe insisted she’d die before she danced. He liked being breathless by the end of a song, panting and exhausted, and still coiled with energy and the promise of more movement. He liked the way the press of other bodies felt as they tried to out manoeuvre each other on a crowded floor. 

None of this ballroom stiffness. 

Though he liked the feel of Noct so close to be a constant temptation. He liked the lightness of the music and the complement of Noct’s steps and touch. He liked the way it would be so easy to catch the prince close, to press their hips together, to let his hands wander until Noct was flush against him with that mischievous grin of his. He liked the control this took, to focus on the steps and not the partner; how he could forget about how his feet moved and just admire the ease with which Noct moved. 

He slid his thumb over Noct’s wrist, felt for the pulse beneath pale skin. And smiled. 

“Not my kind of dancing, little star.”

“I think it is.”

“Think I’m ready for a ballroom?”

“You’d better be.”

Nyx could get used to this— this sort of softness and peace. The staged steps and constant flow. The smile on Noct’s lips as they moved around the small apartment in practice even after the music ended.


	5. Big Dreams

“A bartender, really?”

“Don’t laugh.”

“I can’t see you as a bartender.”

“You cant’s see anything, kitten.”

Nyx grinned at the punch to his arm that had earned him. Catching Noct’s wrist, he kissed his lover by means of a half-hearted apology. The apartment was quiet; the golden point in the day when they neighbours were all away or asleep, when the traffic outside had dulled and the lull meant that the streets and shops could breathe easy for an hour or two. It was that handful of moments where Nyx could be forgiven for thinking it was just them in the city— without the intrusion of life gathering around them as something to be warded out. 

“And what did you dream of growing up to be?”

“Something better than a damned bartender.”

“Technically I wanted to be a bar owner. My own place, my own rules.”

“Ah,” Noct smirked, still curled against Nyx. The armchair really wasn’t meant for the two of them— the apartment really wasn’t meant for the two of them. But Nyx liked it. He liked the intimacy of Noct curled in his lap, probably aware that Nyx openly admired him; tracing the prince’s profile and features, committing the sight of him to memory. “You wanted to be a king.”

“That’s far too much responsibility.”

“King with a really tiny kingdom.”

“I see your point.”

“Drunken subjects, though. I’m not sure that’d be effective.”

“This is a dumb metaphor, little star.”

“Would you have a crown?”

Another kiss to quiet the teasing, to smile against Noct as the prince indulged. As Noct indulged, squirming to get comfortable in the quiet. Nyx traced the line of Noct’s jaw with a soft touch. “What did you dream about being?”

“King.”

“Really?”

“Sometimes. I wanted to be like dad.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. Nyx wondered if Noct still thought the same. If he only wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps before he saw the threat it brought and the pain the crown could cause. Nyx had, after coming to Insomnia, tried to emulate the king, too. He had wanted to be that steadfast, that proud, and kind, that clever. He had wondered at the power in the throne, and the fierce protections Regis allowed himself to indulge in. He wondered if he had ever stoked other dreams in his son, rather than tried to mould him to the crown. 

“Still do, I think. A bit.”

“Noct—”

“Not that I’m in any hurry, obviously. It’s going to be interesting enough dealing with all the diplomatics as a blind prince. I have no idea how it’s supposed to work as a blind king.”

Outside, the traffic started to pick up again, the stores started to open for the afternoon rush— the floods of people flowing in from the city centre and their livelihoods elsewhere. Outside, Nyx was suddenly aware of the life as it carried on, and knew that so few people cared much about what the Crown Prince was doing in his day to day. He knew that— like Libertus— most people thought Noct never left his tower; that he was sheltered and broken and kept away from the rest of the world. 

“You’ll be a good king. You’re good at listening to people. And knowing what’s fair.”

Noct snorted at that, suppressed a laugh as he relaxed against Nyx’s chest and listened to the world. “And you’ll be my royal barman.”

“Hey, I was good at it.”

“How exactly can you be bad at it?”

“I don’t know, because I wasn’t bad at it.”


	6. Crystal Magic

Nyx had several little trinkets and tidbits scattered around the apartment. There were books, mostly, Noct knew those well enough because he could run his hands over them— he could feel the way the spines had cracked and the covers were starting to peel. He could smell pages yellowed with years and feel the build up of dust that had gathered as life got too hectic for Nyx to read much. He listened to them as Nyx read— often in his mother-tongue, rather than the more familiar Lucian— and fell asleep to the way the foreign words would weave through his mind, the same way Nyx could. When he dreamed afterwards, it was always of forests. Like when he was a child. 

There were other things scattered around the place. Beads and cord on the bathroom counter, worked into Nyx’s hair most days. Those were kept in a little bowl with a jagged crack that caught the cord sometimes— Noct could tell from the rough scratches left, and Nyx’s soft swearing from the bathroom when it happened. There was a board on the table that often functioned as a desk, but Nyx had since hung it up. Noct had ran his hands over the papers pinned so carefully to it once, but didn’t ask about them— he knew what photographs felt like. Even ones that had been singed around the edges. He knew that Nyx grew quiet and hesitant when he touched the board. He knew that Nyx was waiting for the questions he didn’t trust himself to answer without emotion, and Noct didn’t ask. 

He didn’t want to open old wounds. 

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

There was a metal box under the bed, and another on a shelf Noct had to be careful of. Noct hadn’t gone digging for it, but he had heard it a few times before when Nyx was doing something. He had felt a soft pulse of power from it that he assumed was some keepsake from Galahd. 

“You’re doing something.”

“What am I doing, little star?”

“I don’t know, I can’t actually see you, you know.”

“I know.”

The little pulse had felt like the elemental stones he could draw elements from. He had heard stories that some people kept chips of the stones— the strange protrusions gifted to the Lucians by the same Astrals who had gifted them with elemancy. He had learnt from Ignis and tutors that there were superstitions and beliefs tied to the stones throughout the ages, and that their prominence in Lucian royal life and spell-crafting was still regarded with the same primitive sort of understandings. Despite the technology that had been around for centuries to draw the elements out for more practical use. 

People wore little chips of what they thought were crystals for protection and courage, for blessings and decoration. 

He nearly jumped at the cool, hard touch of a stone on his arm. 

“Hold this, kitten.”

“What is it?”

It wasn’t the distracting elemental pulse from the box, barely muted by whatever container it was held in. It was rough and chipped, and had a familiar shape as he ran it through his hands. There were smooth edges, cuts rounded by years of being handled and touched and played with. It felt almost crystalline, cool and dormant chips of glass that sometimes fell free when he shattered whatever barrier there was between him and his magic. 

“A crystal?”

“Ruby, from back home.”

Nyx kissed him as he took the stone back, hands brushing over his arms before teasing the thing from his palm. He listened as Nyx placed the ruby on the windowsill above the bed, grinned as it brought the Glaive over him, long enough to let his hands slip upwards over skin and muscle. “That’s a big ruby.”

“That it is,” stone placed where he wanted it, Nyx caught Noct’s hands, and Noct could hear the smile in his voice. “It’s a full moon tonight. It’s tradition to set out that ruby.”

“Why?” Noct just wanted to hear Nyx talking. He didn’t care about the words, he just wanted to hear that voice, and feel that body over his. He settled more comfortably so Nyx was between his legs, so he could free his hands and let them explore again. 

“Because,” Nyx leaned over him, held his hips as he shifted around to get comfortable. Grinned against his throat as he chased words with kisses; “it’s a stone from Carbuncle. It gets charged up by the full moon, and protects whoever slept in it’s light. Galahdian Ruby Light, little star.”

Noct relaxed under the attention, let his hands move over Nyx to bring him closer. “Can’t you just ask Carbuncle for protection?”

“We did, and this is what Carbuncle gave us.” A shift and Noct let his wrists be pinned down in Nyx’s grip. “It’s magic.”

Noct had heard about folk magic and rituals and all the other little things that were really more just superstitions here and there. Iggy tossed a pinch of salt over his shoulder for Sylph when he spilt some on the counter. Gladio had a Fenrir and Cerberus totem from their childhood, that had since been passed on to Iris— for strength and loyalty. Cor sometimes talked about a Blademaster, when Noct was little and asking why he always used the same sword. He knew that there were plenty of little things, and big things, that others believed in— blood type horoscopes, star signs— but he also knew what real magic was. He knew that whatever coursed through his veins wasn’t just some superstition or fairy story. He knew that there was real power just beneath some surfaces. 

That night, pressed closed to Nyx and wrapped in the comfort of the narrow little bed in his quiet apartment, Noct asked Carbuncle if the story was true. He sat in the forest he had dreamt of in his childhood and smiled at the little chirrups and squeaks that his friend answered, the responses forming in his head without any need for a translation or interpreter. Without need for a voice.

He asked Carbuncle to protect his lover, in dreams or otherwise. Especially when he couldn’t.


	7. Chapter 7

Lazy mornings had become synonymous with Nyx’s apartment. Late starts to days when there were no pressing matters from the Citadel to address; quiet morning where they could be at ease with each other, without the constant threat of Noct’s usual retinue at hand. Nyx had taken to trying to sleep in where he could, and where he couldn’t meant that he would just lounge with Noct, revelling in the softness of a morning together. Today, while the world outside started up with its usual chaos of commuters and opening shops, Nyx had stayed in bed with his arms around Noct, teasing the prince awake. 

“What’s it like?” Noct asked later, when they were both more alert. When there was coffee brewing and warm light filtering into the small apartment. When Nyx had forced himself up to get coffee and Noct had pulled himself up to sit back against the wall with the blankets pooling in his lap. 

“What’s what like?”

Noct’s head was turned towards him, mostly, as he moved through the kitchen in a familiar pattern. The prince’s sightless eyes unfocused as his attention was taken by the sounds of Nyx selecting a coffee and their usual mugs. “The whole ‘falling in love with first eye contact’ thing. Prompto keeps talking about it.”

“I don’t know if I’d trust Prompto’s judgement on romance, little star.”

“Well, no, but you must have done it at some point? Eyes meeting over a crowded room sort of thing.”

“Probably,” Nyx couldn’t actually remember the last time any sort of romantic trope had applied to him. He had kept himself off the market for too long to remember the last real spark of something before Noct. “But it’s not like I really pay attention to those things. Why? Want to know if I took one look at you and knew everything?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“You’re not good for the confidence, hero.”

Nyx grinned at that, taking the time to carefully set everything needed for the coffee back into place. “Why would it matter? All those stories about eyes meeting over crowded rooms is stuff for movies.”

“Yes, I actually had to talk to you first.”

“You love it.”

“Yes.”

“Was Prompto pining over some new girl?”

“Of course.” Noct moved on the bed, enough to resettle as he listened to Nyx’s approach. Hands folding around the mug offered to him. “Someone he saw at the arcade.”

“And?”

“And then he talked to her.”

“I prefer our method, little star,” Nyx sat on the edge of the bed with his own coffee. He preferred these quiet mornings, where there was no pressing matters to attend to— no breaking news that would drag them back to the Citadel or draw them out of the apartment until they were ready. “That actual getting to know each other stage.”

“You just don’t want to tell me I’m pretty.”

“That too.”


	8. Chapter 8

“This one?”

There was a game that they played a times. When they could steal some time to themselves and run off to the depths of the city. When they could hide away in the little den Nyx had made and pretend that there was no one else in the world. That there was nothing else in the world. That they could pretend that the rest of the city— all its chaos and noise and carefully constructed image of peace— had fallen away the moment Nyx set the deadbolt on the door.

Nyx liked to think of it as a game, at least. 

They would sit on the floor with the pillows from the bed. Nyx propped back against his armchair, and Noct propped against him. The metal container from beneath the bed— full of the little keepsakes Nyx had kept close, had never lost— settled between Noct’s legs as he felt his way through them. 

“How do you even know that’s a picture? I could tell you it’s an old menu from my bar.”

“The paper,” And Noct would hold the photograph back for Nyx to take from him. “And the size. And why the hell would you have a menu for a bar?”

“It was a nice place, it needed a menu.”

There would be drinks shared between them, bottles or cans set aside as they played this game. As Noct settled back to listen to the story that came with the photograph. 

They had gone through the mementos of the corkboard Nyx used to keep propped up on his table— having hung the thing up so it wouldn’t fall when Noct was getting used to the apartment. Nyx had gone through the newspaper clippings and the invitation every recruited Glaive had received. He had gone over the images, saved from the fires that razed his hometown when the Nifs came, and when he had decided what path he would take. He had told Noct that the board was for all the things that kept him fighting, and all the things that shaped his path in Insomnia. 

The box was for the special things. For anything that was worth protecting. 

The memories he didn’t want on display for just anyone. 

“So, hero? What’s that one?”

“My dad.” His father was smiling in the picture. The same wolfish grin Nyx saw in his own smile. They had the same look, everyone said. Selena had all the grace, Nyx had all the charm. Their dad had always said they got the best parts of him. “Right before I opened the bar with Libs— when we bought the place.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

He had told Noct about Selena, about his mother. He had told Noct about the dangerous crossing into Lucis and the fear from when he and Crowe and Libertus had to be separated for safety until they could meet again in the city. He had told plenty of stories about his little island and it’s traditions, and the way the Nifs first came bearing peace. He had told Noct about the way the slick rocks of the shore scarred his hands when he climbed them as a kid, and the ways he’s climb the canyon walls during his childhood adventures. He talked about the way the ocean spray would cling to his clothes, and how they’d find sand for days after a trip out to the tourist beaches of the bigger port cities. There were ruins in the forest, overgrown and slowly being picked apart by the island. 

And now he talked about his dad. 

How his father had organised a resistance to the Nif occupation, and rallied the town in secret. How, when Nyx was young, his dad would be out most nights, only ever saying that he was out at a bar with his friends. Nyx understood later that it was a lie to protect him and Selena, in case they were ever asked questions about him. 

“I wanted to run a bar because of that,” Nyx nearly laughed at his own youthful naivete. “Guess I thought he’d come to my bar instead.”

“What happened?”

“The Nifs got him. I think. I don’t really know. About a week after Libs and I bought the bar, he disappeared with a bunch of the other troublemakers. Official story we got was that he was on a boat that capsized in rough water, since he helped out the fishermen from time to time when it was tough.”

Noct was quiet for a moment, hands moving to stroke Nyx’s thighs as he leaned back against the Glaive. He tried to offer his comfort. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, little star. It was a long time ago. He was a good man.”

“So the heroics—”

“Don’t start,” Nyx set the picture down and wrapped his arms around Noct, relishing the solid form of him. Enjoying the way he could fold himself to fit so well. “Pick another one.”

Another photo from the container was selected. It was more recent, and happier, and Nyx smiled as he pressed a kiss against the back of Noct’s neck.

“This one.”

“It’s you.”

“Me?” Nyx knew the face Noct would be making at that. He knew the confused little scowl at the idea that there were pictures of him in existence to begin with. “Why?”

“Because I like you.” 

Nyx took the picture and admired it. “From that night in the haven in Leide. Right after you got those Royal Arms.”

“When Prompto was documenting everything?”

“Exactly. He was sprawled out by the fire when he got this one. Right on the ground— you know how he is.”

“So what’s it like?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Shut up.”

“It is!” Nyx laughed, even as Noct jostled him with the threat of an elbow to his side. “You’re probably talking to Iggy or something, but it was when you were right at the edge of the haven. He got the night sky behind you, and everything looks blue from the magic of those things. You look like a star.”

Noct made a disgusted noise and Nyx grinned again— photo aside and hugging Noct close. 

“You look like you belong with the stars, little king. Like they’re in your eyes.”


	9. Chapter 9

“I…” Nyx had to think about this, about what to answer that wouldn’t be seen as either belittling or as something that was just because it was a game. He had to think about something honest and true and whatever else was supposed to be construed as good for the relationship. Because he wanted to. Because Noct had asked. 

Even if Noct was currently sitting on the kitchen counter, moving things around while Nyx cooked. Even if Noct was grinning like a cat who had just discovered that all the huffing and puffing about staying off the counters was just noise to be ignore. 

“I actually like the skewers they make here.”

“I’m telling Libertus.”

“Don’t you dare,” Nyx set a pot to simmer after a couple of swipes through with his spoon, after a dash of spice he knew Noct could smell from where he was sat, attempting to be helpful. “It’ll break his heart and I’ll never hear the end of it.”

They had slipped away from the Citadel after a quick sparring session to blow off steam. They had ducked out one of the side doors and only messaged Ignis and Gladio when they were halfway to the busy little district Nyx lived in. They had escaped the strange, new chaos of the Citadel as the first wave of Nifflheim officials arrived with their offerings of peace, and bolted for the first place either of them could think of as a port in the little storm of diplomacy and sudden barriers.

“Your turn, little star.”

“I,” Noct paused to think. He had created this new game for them to pass the time waiting for dinner. He had pulled himself up to the counter and decided— to Nyx’s surprise— that they needed to know each other better. And that meant sharing secrets; “can’t remember what Dad looks like.”

“That’s not really a secret, Noct.”

Something twisted in Nyx at that. At the idea that Noct hadn’t had more than just his father’s voice, or the feel of his hand, in all the years since being blinded. He had known the King spent more time with his son when he could, Nyx had seen them taking dinner and teas and even just talking together for years. He had seen firsthand how the King doted on his son. 

But he had also watched as Noct grew more tactile. As he familiarised himself with his friends’ features often, and how his friends seemed to understand it was something Noct needed. He had been still, even as Noct let hands wander over him, tracing him. Forming whatever familiarity he could without the benefit of actually seeing the features he was learning. 

He wondered at how much of a loss the face of his father was. He didn’t know what he would do if he forgot what his own father had looked like, or if he had forgotten Selena and her bright smile. 

Nyx decided that he would talk to the King when they returned to the Citadel. In the meantime, he would finish their dinner. 

“I have tattoos,” Nyx said for his turn, kissing Noct as he reached around the prince for the plate of chipped meat he had already prepared. Noct’s nose wrinkled at the passing scent of the spices, and Nyx couldn’t resist another quick kiss. “Galahdian things.”

“Like?”

“Lines, arrows, things from my hometown.”

Noct smiled at the revelation, even as he withdrew from the kitchen as the spices started to overwhelm him. “You’re showing me later, hero.”

“Glad to, kitten.”


End file.
